


there is nothing to fear but fear itself (but you have seen yourself in the mirror)

by tboi



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:31:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20282275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tboi/pseuds/tboi
Summary: “Sid,” Rielle asks, “do you have a surname?”





	there is nothing to fear but fear itself (but you have seen yourself in the mirror)

**Author's Note:**

> something short coz i really struggle to write anything of decent length for XIV it seems...some drk family stuff. wrote at 7am and also i didn't rewatch the cutscenes so please let me know if my characterisation is disturbingly off, lol. 
> 
> twitter @neroscaeva

The de Caulignont name feels heavy in her mouth. A vestige, a reminder of a mother whose touch had never been tender - the skin around her wrists never truly stops burning.

“Sid,” Rielle asks, swaying back on her feet in front of him as they rest under a cliff’s edge, the snow unable to fall on them. The air in Ishgard chills her, even under the heavy cloak and jacket she wears, and she rubs her hands together to try and warm herself up, moving closer to the fire she’d helped make. “Do you have a surname?”

“Xaela typically don’t,” he says with a grunt. “The name of your tribe can be used as one, but…” he trails off, the silence heavy. Rielle knows he can no longer remember his parent’s faces, let alone the name of his tribe.

“Oh,” Rielle bites her lip. The thrum of Sid’s aether burns, turning anxious beneath his skin. She can feel it, even just standing next to him.

“Why?” he eventually asks, not meeting her eyes. He pokes the small fire he has going with a stick.

“No reason,” she says, lie heavy on her tongue. The sweetness of the apple he’d bought her earlier still lingers - she is loathe to be rid of it by giving voice to the ugly thoughts that twist and writhe in her head, loathe to give him _ more _reason to worry about her. 

“I thought about taking Myste, after...” Sid says. It’s a confession - the aether writhes under his skin, heavy and restless. “But the name is not mine to take.”

_ It could be, it would have been, _ Rielle wants to say, memories of the Gridanian sun on her skin warm and heavy. She knows Fray would not have minded, would have bared their teeth in a grin and revelled in the way the name would have fallen from their lips.

_ Would have, _Rielle thinks with sorrow. Fray remains in the past tense, remains gone, body thrown away and burned somewhere, she assumes. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know a lot of things. She knows Fray deserved better. 

“I don’t like mine,” she admits, quietly, like it's a secret. “My first name, it’s okay, but I share my surname with…” she trails off, unable to breathe her mother’s name into the chilly air.

_ That makes her real, _ Rielle thinks. _ That brings her here. _

“Oh,” Sid says, his expression so sheerly dumbfounded she almost smiles at the sight. “I never thought about...that.” Rielle, sick of rocking, moves to sit next to him and crosses her legs underneath her.

“It’s just a name,” she says, but her brows are furrowed together. “So why does it…”

“Why does it _ hurt _ ?” Sid asks, eyes on the fire. He shrugs. “These things just do.” 

Fray’s name tastes like ash and fire and _ regret _ when Sidurgu speaks it, tastes of screaming and running and failure. Sidurgu’s name, in the rare moments he has reason to speak it, tastes like regret and pain and a constant, burning anger. It tastes like robbery and loneliness and _ blood. _

Rielle’s name, when he speaks it, makes something near warm bloom in his chest. It brings to mind plucking fresh apples from too tall trees, tastes like hope and pain and fierce, unwavering dedication. Summer in the forests of Gridania, white magic thrumming beneath her fingertips. He _ will _protect her.

“It’s not who you are,” he tells her. “You are nothing of your mother’s. The name you share does not have to be her’s, it can just…” he struggles for the words, runs his dry tongue across the bottom of one of his fangs, agitated. “It can just be yours.”

“Hmm,” Rielle hums, her chin in her hands. The fire crackles in front of her, and for a moment it’s the only sound in the world. “If you had one, I would take it. You’re more family than she ever was.”

The confession makes Sidurgu’s eyes burn, and he shuts them quickly - _ the fire must be hurting my eyes _, he thinks dumbly.

“We could make one up,” he says slowly, careful. “To share.”

“Oh,” Rielle breathes out softly. “I suppose we could.”

“Sleep on it,” he tells her. He looks into her eyes, finally meets her gaze, and knows why he sits here with his aether thrumming violently beneath his skin, why he bears the darkness when it comes in heavy waves. He knows why he took his oath, feels the conviction of it all it bubble up inside him.

_ Tomorrow, _ he thinks. _ A new name, and maybe one of those pies she likes so much. _


End file.
